


Pin Me Up

by FannyT, RedOrchid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore is a dirty old man, Clueless Ron is Strangely Attractive, Crack, Do It for the Good of Hogwarts, Don't Drink and Write, Everyone is alive!, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Inappropriate Emphasis is Inappropriate, Multi, Photography, Pin-up calendar, Sex Is Not The Enemy, So is Madam Hooch, The Lady Doth Protest Too Much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebuilding an ancient, magic castle is pricy. Sex sells. The logical solution is for the Hogwarts student body to make a pin-up calendar. Obviously. </p>
<p>Hogwarts Year Eight, everyone is alive. Go team!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pin Me Up

**Pin Me Up**

The Great Hall was bubbling with activity as Hogwarts’ students filled the tables in anticipation for the Welcoming Feast. Among them and happy to be back after yet another excruciatingly dreadful summer with his wretched relatives was Harry Potter, who joined his friends at the Gryffindor table amidst a lengthy round of celebratory claps on the back. Rounds of applause erupted here and there as he walked around to talk to his friends as well. Though slightly embarrassed by all the attention, Harry did his best to smile and wave. He had just defeated Voldemort, after all.

The noise died down somewhat as Albus Dumbledore stood up in greeting (his death the previous spring having been largely exaggerated). Dressed to the nines in buttercup yellow robes, he twinkled benignly at the mass of wizards and witches in front of him.

“Dear students,” he began, raising a glass of pumpkin juice in salute. “Most welcome back to Hogwarts! I’m exceedingly happy to see all of you back again, as well as some former students who have come back to us to complete their education.”

At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George Weasley stood up and bowed to the energetic round of applause and cheers following this statement.

“I hope this shall be a most splendid year,” the Headmaster continued. “A year of love and peace and celebration. It is high time to learn from previous mistakes, and therefore, this year will see a very special event take place at this school.”

Excited whispers broke out across the room at this, people leaning across the tables to trade theories with their classmates.

“In order to ameliorate inter-House relations as well as to bring in some well-needed funds to repair the parts of the castle that were destroyed in the last battle, I have the great pleasure to announce that…” He paused, waiting for anticipation to build. “Hogwarts will put out a pin-up calendar!”

Deathly silence fell.

For about thirteen seconds.

“Did he say ‘pin-up calendar?’”

“Surely not!”

“Wicked!”

“What’s a pin-up calendar?”

“You’re too young to know.”

“I’m eighteen!”

“Well, you don’t look it.”

“What does this mean?”

“Are _we_ going to model for it?”

“Or the teachers, maybe.”

“I bet Hagrid would look fantastic in swimming trunks…”

“Argh!”

“…The Giant Squid weaving his tentacles around him seductively…”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

“…Or perhaps posing with Snape, laid out teasingly on a desk…”

_CRASH!_

Chaos broke out as Ron, Seamus and Dean simultaneously jumped the twins and wrestled them to the floor, ripping off pieces of table cloth to use as gags in the process. At the staff table, Dumbledore kept twinkling.

“As I was saying,” he continued serenely, unfazed by the commotion his last statement had caused. “Hogwarts will put out a pin-up calendar. Featuring those of you who would like to participate. I’m afraid I have to ruin Mr Weasley’s creative ideas, however. Calendar participation will be limited to students, and to those students who are of age only. Neither the staff nor any of the magical creatures around here will be eligible. Now, the rules are as follows.” He reached inside a side pocket of his robes and withdrew a thin scroll.

“Only students who are of age, that is seventeen or older, may participate, though younger students are very welcome to help with the preparations, setting up the photo shoots, making costumes and so on. Each photo must also have a clear concept or theme. At the end of the first semester, twelve pictures will be chosen and the calendar put together and sold. Each student featured will receive one hundred points for his or her House and each team behind the picture an additional five hundred points to split between them.”

‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aahhs’ followed this statement. Harry looked over at Hermione, whose eyes gleamed in anticipation at the mention of such large amounts of credits.

“Since we are aiming to collect great sums of galleons,” Dumbledore continued, “—rebuilding an ancient, magical castle is rather pricy as you may imagine—we want the photos to be alluring. Sex sells, as we all know, and let’s not forget that magical pictures move. So make it real, people.”

“So you want us to have intercourse, then?” Luna Lovegood asked serenely, eyeing the Headmaster with polite interest. “I imagine that would bring about lots of publicity.”

“Well, that is entirely up to you,” Dumbledore replied. “We won’t be allowed to publish direct shots of genitalia, of course, but I fail to see how it could hurt you all to be a little friendly towards one another. Sex—in any form—does produce vast quantities of hormones that will make you happy and at peace, after all. You can never have too much love.”

Luna nodded wisely at this while many of the other students broke out in wide smiles. Vast amounts of House points _and_ teacher-condoned sex. This was starting to sound interesting.

“Now, to ameliorate inter-House relations and friendship, each shot must feature students from at least two different Houses,” Dumbledore said, causing outbursts of ‘What?’ and ‘I’m not shagging any bloody Gryffindors!’ to fly across the room. “Now, now,” Dumbledore interrupted, raising his hands to stave off the oncoming protests, “none of that. We need more tolerance and understanding at this school. And to make this a little more tempting, there will be an additional bonus of one hundred points per person for every photo featuring people from all four Houses, as well as the same amount for pictures promoting tolerance by featuring same-sex pairings. Photographic equipment will be made available to you in the storage room in the Charms corridor. I wish you all the best of luck.”

Calmly ignoring the eruption of excited voices, Albus Dumbledore sat back down and turned his attention towards the feast.

* * *

“Alright, we need to plan,” said Hermione, bringing out a scroll of parchment and quill for taking notes. The feast was over and the students had gathered in the common room, chattering excitedly. In one corner Fred and George were kindly offering to do practise shoots with any girls wishing to participate in the calendar, and in another Colin Creevey was causing a bit of a stir by bringing out his secret photo album in order to show off his excellent photography skills. Since the pictures consisted almost solely of views into the Quidditch changing rooms, they were causing a number of different reactions: five students had convened to write an outraged letter to Madam Hooch, Professor Dumbledore and the Daily Prophet; six more had gone after their wands and were now fighting amongst themselves about who would get first shot at Creevey; and a queue of students wanting to buy copies stretched to the portrait hole. 

“It would be best if we could gather a couple of groups and co-operate on the shoots. It will be easier to find people from the other Houses if we work as a large group, rather than going out and asking students for each individual photo. Also, I do think we should try to do at least one with same-sex pairings,” Hermione continued, in her head already seeing the House points roll in. Harry sighed theatrically. 

“Alright,” he said, “I can see where this is heading. And I’ll do it, of course, but I want you to know I reserve myself against the decision. But if it’s for the good of the House...”

“Harry, what are you talking about?” asked Hermione, and Ron looked up at him, appearing to be confused as well. Then again, since Ron was very often confused about things such as which part of the robes was up and why one shouldn’t butter one’s bread before one toasted it, perhaps that shouldn’t be taken into account. 

“Me and Malfoy, of course,” said Harry, looking surprised that they didn’t immediately understand.

“Oh,” said Hermione, realising. “Oh, but that’s not what I was thinking at all. I was actually thinking about myself and Pansy, or possibly the Patils. It could be hot. What do you think, Ron? Would you think that was hot? Me and Pansy, two opposite personalities, the bookish girl and the outgoing gossip, throwing away our differences in one steaming embrace...” She was leaning more and more towards Ron as she spoke, licking her lips. 

“Uh-huh,” said Ron absent-mindedly, turning a page in his Chudley Cannons magazine. 

“But what about me?” asked Harry plaintively, not accustomed to not being the centre of attention. Hermione blinked and looked towards him. 

“Oh, it would be great with a photo of you as well, of course. But you don’t have to do it with Malfoy if you don’t want. I mean, there’s Michael Corner...”

“That nerd? He couldn’t take a hot photo if his life or his House points depended on it!” Harry protested. “Which they do, by the way.”

“...or Blaise Zabini...”

“He’s too tall. He would make me look short.”

“...or Ernie MacMillan...”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

“...or anyone, really. I mean, you don’t have to do a same-sex shot either if you feel uncomfortable. You could take a picture with Luna, for example...”

“Luna’s already doing a picture with me,” said Ron. “She asked me after dinner.”

Hermione broke her quill. 

“Fine, you’ve talked me into it,” said Harry, taking advantage of her distraction. “I’ll do a picture with Malfoy, although of course I do not like him in real life. The git,” he added, to really get his point through.

* * *

In the Slytherin common room, a similar conversation was raging. 

“I think you should do a photo with Harry Potter, that’d be really hot,” said Blaise Zabini to Draco Malfoy, who was trying to tan in front of the fire. 

“OK, cool,” said Malfoy.

* * *

“We should spend today trying to assemble the groups and camera crews,” Hermione said at breakfast the next day, having to no one’s surprise taken the lead in what she referred to as _Project Pin-up_. (Hermione was never truly happy until she had a name to write as heading at the top of her parchment.) “I’ll talk to Pansy, for example, and try to see if I can find any other groups that would be willing to join us. We should probably try to rope in Colin Creevey, too—he is by far the best photographer, after all. I’ll do that after I’ve talked to Pansy. And you two, occupy yourself in the same way.” She looked up from her breakfast plate and frowned. “Where did Harry go?”

Ron shrugged and pointed at a form skipping towards the Slytherin table. 

“He said he was going to beat Malfoy senseless, to persuade him to join the project,” he said. “Well, he actually said snog, but he _meant_ beat, of course.”

“Alright,” said Hermione. “I’ll go and find Pansy, then. I may be a while,” she added, lowering her voice to a seductive purr, “because it may be that I’ll have to be very _persuasive_ to get her to agree.” 

“OK,” said Ron, reaching out for the syrup. “If you’re not back within half an hour I’ll eat your waffles, too.”

* * *

Pansy wasn’t difficult to find. The way the breakfast owls started swerving in the air and dropping in a dead faint the nearer they got to a certain point at the Slytherin table was a definite hint. As she neared the same spot Hermione, too, felt the need to conjure up a handkerchief, holding it over her mouth and nose to filter out the worst fumes. 

“Hello, Pansy,” she managed, and intending to start out on a good note went on, “That’s a very nice perfume you’re wearing.”

“Shut up, two-faced bitch,” said Pansy easily, the way other people said ‘good morning’. “Daphne hexed my perfume bottle. I bloody well know I smell like something out of Knockturn Alley, probably two days dead. If you keep patronising me, I’ll ask her for the hex and do the same to you, or at least I would if you used perfume—but seeing as I don’t know any scent advertising itself as nervous sweat and old parchment, I’m guessing you don’t. What the hell do you want?”

“Do a picture with me in the pin-up calendar,” said Hermione quickly, somewhat taken aback. Had she come two minutes earlier and heard her greeting Blaise Zabini with the words “Have all the mirrors in your room committed their long-contemplated suicide and cracked into a thousand pieces, or have you simply lost all your sense of style and dignity in one disastrous night, you ugly son of a bitch?”, or merely visited the Slytherin table on any previous day when the House Elves were late with the morning coffee, she would have realised she was not in any way given a special treatment. 

Pansy stared at her. 

“I mean, I think it could work out really well,” Hermione went on earnestly. “We do make a rather fetching pair, if I say so myself. It’s something about the contrast.”

Pansy kept staring at her, pointedly. 

“This is to our mutual advantage,” tried Hermione, somewhat desperately. “Boys dig pictures of hot girls together. It’s your chance to finally get with Malfoy.”

Pansy stared at her a bit more for good measure. “So, I hear you’re clever,” she said eventually.

“Well, I’m only a genius,” said Hermione modestly. 

“Surely, then, you can see that my chances of getting Draco in the sack are lower than those of Goyle ever finding a girlfriend?” 

Hermione tried to look surprised for a few seconds, then sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s always been quite obvious. If nothing else since he asked Flitwick for private lessons in the swish-and-flick wrist movement,” she admitted. “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t know, however.”

“I’ve known him since he was five. That means I’ve known him since he first starting hitting on his home tutor. I don’t exactly nurture hope of a long future and seven kids with the man,” said Pansy dryly. Then her eyes gleamed, suddenly, as an idea formed somewhere behind her imperfectly plucked eyebrows. “But I’m not totally opposed to your idea anyway. There’s a Gryffindor boy I’ve been wanting to hook up with for a long while now.”

“Seamus is already taken,” said Hermione. 

“Oh, please. If I had to do Ireland I’d rather shag a leprechaun,” snorted Pansy. “And I don’t only date blonds. Where would the point be in that, honestly? No, suffice it to say I want one of your House mates, and this photo shoot may well bring me in his way. I’m in.”

Pleasantly surprised at how comparatively easy it had been to get Pansy to agree, Hermione beamed and stuck out her hand to shake the other girl’s (and was refused with the explanation “Are you bloody stupid? I could catch Nerd”).

Had she thought about it for just a little longer she would have asked Pansy to elaborate on just _which_ of the Gryffindors she’d meant.

* * *

By lunchtime they had assembled quite a large group of potential pin-up subjects. Creevey, who had after the publication of his previously secreted photos received quite a large number of fans wishing to learn his technique, had agreed to assemble a camera crew from the most devoted of his trainees and help them do the shoots. Recognising superior talent when it manifested itself—albeit in Creepy Creevey, the most notorious peeper since Professor Quirrel—this had made several other students flock to their side. Hermione was keeping toll. 

“So, Padma and Parvati—how very original,” she said, conveniently ignoring that the pairing had been one of her earliest suggestions. The twins glared at her. 

“We’ll have you know,” said one, “that we have modelled for _Babes and Broomsticks_ for three years.”

“ _They_ don’t mind if the thought is unoriginal,” said the other. 

“Mainly because they don’t think,” conceded the first.

“We sincerely doubt that anyone who buys a pin-up calendar of barely legal Hogwarts students is going to be doing any heavy thinking, either.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hermione waved them on. “Whatever. I’ve written you down, go and synch your speech at someone else. Next!”

“Hello, Hermione,” said Ginny, walking up and handing her a piece of parchment. “I’ve written down my partners for the shoot here.”

Hermione took the parchment, scanning it quickly. “So you’ll be doing a shoot with Blaise Zabini, Dennis Creevey, Seamus O’Finnigan, Anthony Ballantyne, Terrence...” she trailed off, mouthing silently to herself for some time, and then went on, “with _all_ of these?”

“Well,” said Ginny, “I just took my To Do-list and copied all the names off it. I thought it might be a nice opportunity to catch up. The number has shrunk since I first wrote it, of course—I’ve done quite a few since then.” She leaned across the table, and pointed. “You can cross off Theodore Nott, too, by the way. And Professor Slughorn. Oh, and Millicent Bulstrode.”

“I thought you were only interested in men?” asked Hermione, grabbing on to the one fact she felt sure of. Ginny shrugged.

“Close enough.”

“Well, I’m thinking Madonna for your shoot,” Hermione said. ”I’m thinking glamour and money. I’m thinking... Material World.” She struck a pose. Ginny stared at her. 

“Sorry, what?”

Hermione blinked and came back from whatever private fantasy (quite possibly in pink) she had been visiting, realising she was talking to a Pureblood. 

“You wearing lots of diamonds, surrounded by men,” she clarified. 

“Yeah, I like that,” said Ginny. 

“Oh, hello, Ginny,” said Ron, walking up to them. “How nice to see you. Harry’s over there.”

“Thank you, Ron,” said Ginny, giving him a rather pitying look, and left them. 

“Isn’t she cute?” Ron asked of Hermione. “The way she’s stayed so completely in love with Harry, through everything. She’s such an innocent.”

“You like innocents, do you, Ron?” asked Hermione, leaning back in her chair and raising the hemline of her skirt a little. 

“Huh? Well, you have to, don’t you? She’s just so adorable. Hermione, you should pull down your skirt. It’s bloody cold today.” He leaned past her to take her quill, ignoring the way she leaned forward into his hair, breathing in deeply. 

“I’m doing a picture, too, by the way,” he said, scribbling his name onto her list. “With Zacharias Smith. You know, he’s quite nice when you actually talk to him.”

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up sharply, to see the handsome Hufflepuff grinning at her. 

“You can’t!” she said quickly. “You said you’d do a picture with Luna. Did you forget?”

Ron looked faintly puzzled. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Do you think she will mind?”

“Yes,” said Hermione firmly, having just decided that if there was anything worse than another girl trying to take her man, it was another boy. 

“Oh. Well, I’ll just have to ask if she could agree to doing a picture with both of us,” said Ron easily, not noticing the frantic “ _No_ ”-motions Hermione was making. “Luna!”

“Hm?” said Luna vaguely, drifting up to them holding a potted plant which she had been stripping of its leaves, replacing them with paper replicas.

“I’m afraid I’ve promised to do a picture with Zacharias, as well,” Ron told her apologetically. “Would you mind if we did a picture, all three of us?”

Luna looked at him for some time, then looked at Zacharias. Putting down the potted plant, she wandered over and walked a slow circle around him, occasionally pinching at his waist or laying a hand against his chest and nodding thoughtfully. 

“Well,” she said finally, “I have always said that one should be open for new things. I think this could work out. As long as you and I come to a satisfactory agreement on how we’re going to share.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Zacharias grinned at her, rather wolfishly. “From what I hear, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Hermione,” said Ron, behind them, sounding concerned, “you’re eating the list.”

* * *

The next day, Hermione sent out invitations to representatives of all four Houses for a joint calendar planning session (seeing as they needed people from the other Houses anyway to complete the requirements and earn Gryffindor their well-deserved points, she figured she might as well keep control of the situation before people started walking off and taking pictures with each other willy-nilly). They had just reached paragraph 4b on the agenda ( _Bikini Waxes, Y/N?_ ) when Harry and Malfoy came in, holding hands. As they became aware of the rest of the occupants of the room, they jumped away from each other guiltily and then stared at each other. 

“I so totally don’t like you at all, Draco. Malfoy,” said Harry loudly, glancing at the assembled students, and pursed his lips in a very threatening manner. 

“Yeah? Yeah, well, you’re not attractive in any way, and I wouldn’t touch you with a broomstick,” Malfoy answered just as loudly, adding not quite _sotto voce_ , “unless you wanted me to.”

They proclaimed in unison that they would not under any circumstance sit next to each other, had a somewhat unnecessarily physical fight about who got to sit closest to the door and finally placed themselves opposite each other in the middle of the table, where they then proceeded to foot flirt in the most indecent manner. 

“Order!” snapped Hermione, slapping her wand hard into her left hand and then dropping it to jump around in small circles on the spot, shaking her hands and making little whimpering noises. 

“Now that we’re all assembled,” she continued, still shaking her left hand surreptitiously, “we can keep discussing the business of the day. Next on the agenda is Dean’s interesting suggestion. Why don’t you tell us a little about it, Dean?” 

Dean stood up, rubbing his palms across his thighs and leering around the table. “Well,” he said, “photos are all good, aren’t they, for flimsy snapshots of life and soulless memoirs. But for a piece of art to speak to you, I mean really _speak_ ,” he emphasised, really _speaking_ to Ginny’s cleavage, “it needs to be something more lasting. So I’m proposing that instead of _photographing_ these pictures for the calendar, we should paint them.”

“And who would these _we_ be?” asked Hermione, making certain she was in Ron’s line of vision as she sucked thoughtfully and thoroughly on her quill.

“I thought I could take on some of the burden,” said Dean modestly. “I’m willing to take on, say... February, March, June, July, December and... er... October.”

“So in other words Lavender, Hannah and Susan; me and Pansy; Ginny; Parvati and Padma; Luna, Ron and Zacharias; and Harry and Malfoy.”

“Did I say October? I was certain I said September,” said Dean. 

“And who would handle the other half of the calendar?”

“Millicent has offered,” said Dean, and winced in anticipation of the protests. None came. “She seemed really pleased about it,” he added, pushing his luck, and glanced at the assembled boys. 

“Sorry, were you saying something?” asked Harry. “I was busy thinking about how horrible Draco’s eyelashes look when the sun falls through them to land on his soft porcelain skin.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” said Malfoy, licking his lips. “I was just contemplating how ill that cashmere turtleneck fits Harry’s broad, manly chest and well-muscled arms.”

“Oh, I see you want to fight, do you?” 

“Let’s take this outside...” said Malfoy, standing up so quickly he turned his chair over. Together they ran for the door, giggling. 

“Won’t painting the pictures take too long, though?” Ginny asked. “Not that I mind the whole drawn-out, hands-on approach—” She gave Dean a meaningful wink—“but I’m kind of on a schedule here if I’m going to get through my list before the deadline.”

“And paintings can’t be duplicated as easily!” Colin Creevey piped up. Several of the other students nodded enthusiastically at this.

“Let’s take it to the vote, then,” said Hermione primly, leaning forward towards Ron and unbuttoning the top of her shirt. “All those in favour of Dean’s suggestion...” Dean’s hand shot into the air, followed more slowly by those of three students, none of whom appeared to have been listening very hard. “All those against...” The rest of the students raised their hands. “I find that the motion has been declined. Colin, you’re back on as head photographer.”

Colin whooped and climbed up on his chair, launching into a heartfelt victory speech which was rudely interrupted when the door opened, and Harry and Malfoy returned, red-faced and hastily dressed. 

“Boy am I glad there aren’t any security cameras at Hogwarts,” shouted Harry. “It would have been so embarrassing if everyone could see the whopping I just gave you, you weak Slytherin you.”

“There are security cameras at Hogwarts,” Ernie informed him. “The security monitors are making a fortune out of selling the tapes.”

* * *

Sunday found them assembled on the Quidditch pitch for the first shoot—Creevey and his entourage of trainee cameramen and –women carrying cameras, tripods, screens and other kinds of equipment; Harry and Malfoy wearing Quidditch robes; and seven House Elves setting up a table with mulled wine and cookies some way off from the students. Hermione had given them a brief lecture on freedom, going your own way and not taking orders from anyone, to which they had replied “Up yours”. They had then gone on to inform her that the refreshments were for their own sake—to enjoy while they watched the shoot—and any students trying to partake of the goodies would find their fingers missing faster than they could say “unpaid labour”. 

She had instantly switched tack and threatened to sue them for false advertising. 

Five minutes later she had been forced to retreat, after being hit with more legal paragraphs she could handle sober, and admitting herself defeated by a towel-clad turnip with ugly ears, she swallowed the loss with bad grace and turned to people who were easier to bully. 

“So, as we all know by now, _I hope_ ,” she said bossily, glaring accusingly at the students and making one or two squirm, “the story is as follows: Harry and Malfoy are on opposite teams and have just battled for the Quidditch Cup. Once the competition is finished, however, they turn from rivals to lovers, settling their differences quite passionately. We will have Harry and Malfoy against the southern goal posts, with the Quidditch Cup lying abandoned by their side, _conveniently face down and not showing the name of the latest champion_ ,” she added, as five hands from Gryffindor and eight from Slytherin shot immediately into the air. 

“This indicates that Gryffindor or Slytherin is the expected champion,” came Ernie MacMillan’s pompous voice, making most of the assembled students wince. “How about we instead show the Cup bearing Hufflepuff’s name, and have Potter and Malfoy be united in the bitterness of defeat?”

There was a rather long pause at this, until Harry said, 

“Come now, Ernie, I think we all know that isn’t even remotely possible.”

Ernie looked from him to Hermione, who was wearing a similarly sceptical expression, and then around at his House mates, all of whom were shaking their heads. 

“Fine,” he said, flushing angrily. “But I want you all to remember who won the last spelling competition. Was it Slytherin? No, they lost out at _exasperated_. Was it Gryffindor? No, they lost out at _bread_. Was it Ravenclaw? No, they... Um...”

“We don’t enter spelling competitions. We feel it’s below us,” said Luna, who was lying on her stomach with a camera stolen from Creevey and, apparently, taking pictures of the grass. “Also, for some reason we get all the dyslexics.”

“Luna, what are you doing?” asked Harry, voicing the question on everybody’s mind. 

“Taking a picture of the Knackerbogs, of course,” said Luna, not looking up. “Finally, I will have actual evidence that they exist. I don’t know why people persist in telling me they don’t. I blame the Ministry,” she added in a loud whisper, looking up at last and over her shoulder, the way she regularly did in order make sure the Obliviators weren’t waiting to take her.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly. “Indeed. To return to the shoot...” she began, but was interrupted by an angry shout:

“What do you kids think you’re doing?” 

Madam Hooch came striding down the pitch, stopping in front of them with her hands on her hips. “This is the Quidditch pitch!” she spat. “It’s a place of healthy physical exercise and glorious competition, not a studio for lewd and inappropriate—oh. Why, hello, Harry.” Her voice changed suddenly from furious shouting to soft purring as she became aware of the Gryffindor Seeker. “How are you doing, dear boy? Or _man_ , I should say,” she amended, letting her eyes travel up and down his body, quite slowly. 

“Very well, Madam Hooch,” Harry replied politely, holding up his broom in an attempt to cover as much of himself as possible. “We’re just going to take a few pictures, for the good of Hogwarts.”

“Oh, yes, the good of Hogwarts...” Madam Hooch said distantly, still staring at him hungrily. “Yes... the very... good...” She shook her head suddenly, tearing her gaze from him to take in the camera crew, skimming over the rest of the curious and expectant bystanders and pausing briefly when she came to Malfoy. Her eyebrows went up marginally, as if she was not entirely averse to what she was seeing there, either. Then she looked from him and back again to Harry, seemingly taking in their matching appearance, and when she grinned now, it made Harry want to take a step or sixteen backwards. 

“Well, then,” said Madam Hooch, her voice brisk again, “I suppose I’d better stay and survey the shoot, to make sure everything is in order. I’ll be sitting in the stands, and you’d better be sure I will protest quite sharply if I see something I don’t like, or if I don’t see something I do like. Now, get on with it. Quickly.” 

She marched off, enlarging and enhancing her judge’s binoculars as she went. 

“Ooh, Harry’s got a fan,” said Justin Finch-Fletchley, since he felt that this hadn’t been made entirely obvious. Ron snorted. 

“Honestly,” he said, “she really is an embarrassment. How can she even believe Harry would be interested in her? She looks like a _man_.”

Zacharias stared at him. 

“Please tell me he didn’t just say that,” he said to Luna. “I mean, I know that it took him until fourth year to realise why Hermione didn’t share their bedroom like the rest of the lads, but he isn’t _that_ dense, is he?”

“He’s Gryffindor,” Luna answered, having abandoned the camera and now instead concentrating on plaiting a fork into her hair. “Yes, he is that dense. He thinks Harry is in a loving relationship with Ginny.”

(Some way off from them, the others had now started to set up the shoot, urged on by a magically enhanced _“Take your clothes off!”_ from the stands.)

“What? With _Ginny_? Ginny “I don’t date, but I like sex” Weasley?” Zacharias now looked quite shocked. “He _believes_ that?”

“He does behave like a dazed Mump Rumpling sometimes, yes. It’s a good thing he’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Devastatingly so, in fact,” Zacharias agreed, the shocked expression giving way for a slightly hungry one as he watched the Gryffindor boy. “And takes directions easily, which is a bonus, while also being extremely gullible. It’s a quality I always appreciate in a straight, soon-to-be-turned man.”

“Partway turned,” Luna corrected. “Partway. We have a deal: we share him half-and-half. You’d better not be forgetting it, or you’ll find your bed full of Nargles. And they eat toenails.”

Just then their conversation was interrupted by Hermione who was demanding to know, “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” said Malfoy, sounding mildly puzzled, “didn’t you say ‘kiss him passionately’?”

“No! I said ‘take his hand’.”

“My hearing is terrible,” sighed Malfoy. “Maybe I just need to clear out my ears. Potter, perhaps if you licked them thoroughly I would hear better?”

“Since I hate you, I would rather take Professor Sinastra on a date than help you in any way,” said Harry, already moving eagerly towards him, “but since it’s for the good of the school...” He had backed Malfoy up against one of the goalposts, and now proceeded to suck and nibble at his ear in a way that had Draco moaning with pleasure. 

“Colin, are you getting all of this?” asked Hermione, mildly impressed with the way the photo shoot was going. 

“Almost,” said Creevey, from somewhere below her skirt.

* * *

Some time later, when an ice pack had been conjured for Hermione, Creevey’s broken nose had been fixed and someone had pried Harry and Malfoy apart long enough to take directions, the photo shoot was ready to be reassumed. 

“OK, let’s try this again,” said Hermione, wincing she tried to gesticulate with her still smarting hand. “Colin, you take care of the cameras. Ernie, you watch Colin. Malfoy, you lean against the goalpost and Harry, you lean across him. No, not like that—more passionately.” She watched for a while. “OK, less passionately.” She watched some more. “By that, I wanted to convey the opinion that it’s not strictly necessary for you to keep kissing each other throughout the entire shoot. I know how difficult you are both finding this—there’s really no need for you to keep pushing yourself so hard.” For some reason, this drew groans from both boys. 

“Hermione,” said Harry faintly, “please don’t ever say ‘pushing’ and ‘hard’ in the same sentence again.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle that right now,” panted Malfoy, and added, “Because I’m longing to push Potter’s nose through his skull so hard, of course.”

“Come now, I need you to focus!” snapped Hermione, clapping her hands together. “We’re trying to get a great picture here, I’m going to need you to do a little acting! And Malfoy, would you stop pinching Harry’s bottom? I can’t believe you’re being so juvenile! You’ll be pulling each other’s hair next!”

(“Yes,” said Luna in answer to a query from the newly arrived Pansy. “She isn’t quite as thick as Ronald, but she has swallowed the “deadly enemies”-scenario more thoroughly than I would ever have believed of someone who proof reads Professor Dumbledore’s _Theory of Advanced Transfiguration_ essays.”)

“Try thinking like this, Harry,” Hermione went on, “you want to threaten him, so you’re leaning over him to intimidate him, when your heart is caught by the look in those beautiful, blue eyes surrounded by tiny golden freckles...”

“My eyes are grey,” said Malfoy. Hermione blinked and cleared her throat. 

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Of course. I meant grey.”

“And I do _not_ freckle.”

“Right. Right. I don’t know what I was thinking about.”

“I do,” said Luna, Zacharias and Pansy in unison.

It was somewhere around there the shoot deteriorated. Colin had escaped Ernie’s vigilant stare by the cunning expedient of pointing at the sky and then running away while the Hufflepuff boy was searching for the alleged dragon flotilla, and was currently adding to his photo album outside the staff bathrooms. The by now considerably inebriated House Elves were standing on top of their table, holding on to each other to keep from falling off and chanting “Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!” (this was occasionally drowned out by Madam Hooch’s “Fifty points from Gryffindor unless those robes are off within five minutes!”). A certain very determined trio had meanwhile caused Hermione to suddenly abandon all interest in the two boys now snogging quite shamelessly against the goal posts, and instead latch on Ron’s arm so tightly he was starting to complain of cut-off blood circulation. 

“Tell you what,” said Ginny kindly to one of Colin’s trainees, a fourth year Ravenclaw, nodding towards Harry and Malfoy, “give them ten minutes and I’m sure you’ll be able to snap a couple of good ones.” She looked him once up and down, then added, “And come see me when you’re done.”

* * *

Minerva passed the bottle of Firewhisky over to Albus and picked up the photos from what had been dubbed "The Greenhouse of Secret Delights"-shoot. She turned it first one way, and then another, and then squinted at it for a while. 

"Well," she said finally, "I must admit I didn't expect it from the Hufflepuffs. This is an eye-opener, to be sure. I think I need to reconsider my careers advice when it comes to Miss Abbott."

She picked up another photo. "Oh, that's a nice one of Mr Finch-Fletchly. Shame about the ears. And I'm afraid this one with Miss Weasley and what appears to be a disturbing number of students as well as faculty members will have to be disqualified."

She motioned to have the bottle back again, then turned irritably. "Albus, what are you doing?"

Albus was hunched over a small mountain of Galleons. "One for the Gryffindor Tower restoration, one for me. One for the Ravenclaw Tower restoration, one for me," he muttered. "Sorry, Minerva, what? Oh! Oh, we've received quite a lot of pre-orders and I was just going through our budget. Yes. What were you saying?"

"Ginny Weasley has included, among others, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in her photo shoot," Minerva said. 

"So?" Albus asked. 

"The only participants in the shoots were to be students of age, I believe the rules were," Minerva said. 

Albus shrugged. "Oh, I don't think Defence Against the Dark Arts professors count as faculty members, do you?" he said. "Everyone knows they never last all that long. I mean, do you even know what this one's name is? I never bother to learn them until halfway through the year."

Minerva shrugged. It was a valid point. 

"Oh, is that the Snorkack Winter Wedding shoot?" Albus asked excitedly, pointing to another of the photos Minerva was holding in her hands. "How did it come out? I'm very curious."

"Didn't you watch all the shoots through your Omniculars?" Minerva asked. 

"Oh, yes, of course, but it's so different in print." He received the photo from her and gazed at it intently. "Yes, I think a strong contender for December, don't you? Although I must say I can't quite see what all the fuss is about Mr Weasley."

"Well, whatever it is, he's now walking to all his classes holding hands with either Miss Lovegood, Mr Smith or Miss Parkinson," Minerva said. "They seem to have some kind of schedule worked out. Also, I've had to throw out Miss Granger from the Curses section of the Restricted Library twice. I'd appreciate it if you'd lock her out for life."

"Oh, well," Albus said. "Miss Lovegood wants to be an Auror. It'd be good for her to get some practical experience. So do you have a favourite picture? We need something for the cover. Something—I don't know—something _winning_."

Minerva looked at the pictures in front of her, considering. "Well," she said eventually, "The Greenhouse of Secret Delights does have a very nice composition. And of course—"

"Don't you think something a bit more alluring would be the trick?" Albus said. "Don't you think that the picture that should be _Chosen_ should be something the whole Wizarding World could relate to?"

Minerva sighed. "If you want Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy on the cover, please just say so," she said. 

"So," Albus said, and that was that. 

The calendar sold out within three days, and it only after the fourth re-print that someone thought to ask where the Headmaster of Hogwarts School had gone off to, and why the only thing left in his office was some guide books on Bahamas.


End file.
